Читать книгу Buffalo Bill Entrapped; or, A Close Call - Ingraham Prentiss - Страница 7

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Rixton Holmes swore frightfully when his eyes fell on the Indians. He knew them, and they knew him. They were a part of the band of Raven Feather, the chief who had, until very recently, been both his ally and tool. They were coming toward him with friendly intentions. He had expected their arrival at the cave, for Raven Feather had sent for them, but they had come long before the time announced by the chief’s messenger.

The villain found himself in a disturbing quandary. If he remained to receive them, his cowardice and treachery in respect of the chief and Crow-killer would be discovered, and he would probably lose his life, and Myra Wilton would fall into Raven Feather’s hands. On the other hand, if he ran away, he would lose the girl, and his scheme to win a fortune would come to naught.

A moment’s consideration decided the matter for him. Before the Navahos reached the platform he was out of sight in the thick bushes on the eastward side of the cave. Down the steep hill he went, stumbling, falling, receiving many bruises and cuts until his feet struck the bed of the ravine.

His absence from the platform that concealed the shaft of the cave did not surprise the leader of the savages. The red man supposed that the white friend of Raven Feather had gone underground to announce the coming of the reënforcements.

Myra Wilton had been too terrified to move from her position. She was trembling violently when the savages crowded about the platform. No move was made to seize or harm her.

Soon the fact that she was for the moment safe drove some of the fear from her face. Looking steadily at the handsome young brave who commanded the band, she pointed down the hill in the direction taken by the fleeing villain.

The Navaho was at first in doubt as what her action meant. But when it was repeated, with expressive addition, he nodded, and at once gave orders which sent two of the braves after Holmes.

After the braves had gone, the Indian leader tried the platform, and discovered that it was fastened. A frown came into his face. He looked at the girl, and said in Navaho: “Where is the great chief, Raven Feather?”

Myra pointed downward.

The young brave regarded her steadily for a moment, and then went to one side of the platform, felt under the rock, and found a concealed lever. Giving it a pull, the lock was released.

Now, standing on the ground beside the platform, the Indian, by signs, directed the girl to stand on the trap.

Her face paled, but she did not hesitate. Refusal would have availed her nothing. Before her was a score of savages, each armed to the teeth. She stepped forward, and the Indian came to her side. Down went the trap, and they descended, to find that the grotto was tenantless.

Light for the apartment was furnished by a sputtering torch stuck in a crevice of the wall.

The Indian stepped from the platform and listened intently. No sound broke the stillness.

He moved toward the corridor, his right hand grasping the wrists of the girl.

His mystification was great, but not so great as that of Myra Wilton. How had the struggle in the cave terminated, and what had become of the combatants?

A partial answer was afforded when the Indian and the girl entered the inner chamber of the cave. On the rocky floor lay Raven Feather and Crow-killer. Each was bound and gagged, and each bore the marks of terrible punishment.

“Ugh!” grunted the young Navaho. Then he looked at the girl. “What for?” he said in English.

Myra’s eyes were on a large hole high up in one corner. When she was a prisoner in the chamber there had been no such hole. Where the hole was there had been a crevice, which had admitted light. Facing the Navaho, she replied quietly: “For me.”

The savage, whose knowledge of English was limited, understood her, but he was unable to say in response what he desired to say.

He hesitated a moment, and then drew some leather cords from his breast and proceeded to tie her hands.

The operation finished, he lifted her up and sat her down beside the prostrate chief. Raven Feather was in possession of his senses, and his snaky eyes twinkled in evil satisfaction as he watched the actions of his subordinate.

In a few minutes the chief and his brother were sitting up and ready to talk. Each was stiff and sore, but none of their hurts were serious.

Raven Feather’s first words were: “Where are the braves that came with Lone Wolf?”

The young brave pointed toward the grotto.

Some quick orders were given, and Lone Wolf went to the grotto, where his braves were waiting, and brought them into the chamber.

Raven Feather pointed to the hole in the wall, made a short explanation, and followed it by some sharp instructions.

Out of the hole sped the Indians, and it was late in the night when they returned.

They had failed to come upon the two scouts, but they had a strange story to tell. It can be best told to the reader by a recital of the adventures of Buffalo Bill and Bart Angell, who when last seen were fighting a battle that meant either life or death for them.

But each had the advantage at the outset. The two Indians were taken by surprise, and, though they fought with skill and desperation, victory soon came to the scouts.

Buffalo Bill had the heaviest contract. He was opposed to a giant in strength, and but for the science allied to his remarkable muscular strength, the outcome might have been in doubt.

When the contest was over, and the chief and his brother lay on the floor, their limbs secured with stout leathers, the king of scouts, the perspiration running in streams down his face, staggered to the space under the trap, and jerked at the rope that was used to lower the platform. He jerked in vain. The platform would not move.

“I understand,” said the scout to his companion, “that hound Holmes has locked the trap. We’re caged, all right.”

“Maybe we aire an’ maybe we ain’t, Cody. I’ve shore corralled an idee that we aire goin’ ter beat this game. Let’s mosey to ther other eend an’ take a squint at that crevice whar ther light comes from.”

They went into the inner chamber, carrying with them the two prisoners.

Buffalo Bill looked up at the crevice.

“I am afraid escape in that direction is barred, Bart,” he said. “The redskins must have investigated the break, and found it a case of no thoroughfare, or they would never have allowed it to remain unguarded.”

Bart Angell scratched his head. “I hev shore a prize memory. I loses it, an’ now an’ ag’in it comes back ter me. It’s comin’ back now. Cody, I’ve shore struck it. I know all about this yer hole. It’s a double-ender. We’re in one part of it, but thar’s a bigger part, an’ it’s on t’other side of that crevice.”

Buffalo Bill ceased to be in a state of gloom. “Are you sure?” he asked eagerly.

“Plumb sure. Ther hull business, descrip’ an’ everything hev come back ter me. Squat, an’ I’ll eloocerdate.”

They sat down, and after filling their pipes Angell began. “I wouldn’t take ther time now ter do any talkin’ ef I didn’t feel that we need a little rest afore tackling what’ll be a tough job. Five year ago I war down in Taos visitin’ a half-breed who war related ter Kit Carson. Ther cuss war weak-minded; not a shore-ernuff fool, but mighty near ter one. He hed been a member of a gang of desperadoes, Injun an’ white, that had made things mighty hot fer ther good people of ther Territory. Ther gang had been broken up, an’ Manuel Larios, the half-breed, hed saved his bacon by turnin’ State’s evidence.

“It war shortly arter ther trial that I visited him. You wanter understand, Cody, that Manuel hed a sister, an’ that I had a sneakin’ admiration fer ther gal.” The big scout’s mouth twitched, and his eyes sought the floor. “She’s dead now, an’ I—I, waal, I thought a heap of her.”

Buffalo Bill gave the speaker a glance charged with sympathy and appreciation, and, recovering himself, Angell went on composedly:

“Manuel war in bed when I hit ther adobe that sheltered him. He talked a blue streak. War sure he war goin’ ter peter, an’ wanted ter ease his mind. Among other things, he reeled off a queer yarn erbout a cave in these yere hills. A member of ther gang he had been consortin’ with had found ther cave, an’ ther gang fixed it up fer a hidin’ place. Thar war a couple of mechanical critters in ther outlet, an’ they engineered ther platform racket. I reckon one of ther Injuns berlongin’ to ther gang war a Navaho, an’ that arter the gang war scattered he let out what he knowed ter Raven Feather. He couldn’t ha’ knowed ther hull thing, or else ther part of ther cave we hev not yet seen would ha’ been occerpied by ther reds.

“Manuel told me that only a few members of ther gang, ther leader, Manuel, an’ two others, white men, knew erbout the retreat beyond ther crevice. Ter prevent the Injun contingent from gettin’ on to what war intended fer ther treasure house of ther gang, the leader an’ the few members he could trust worked ther crevice as a scare hole. They knowed that ther redskins would try ter investigate ther hole, an’ so they rigged up a scarecrow, and rubbed phosphorious onto it. The Injuns saw this scarecrow twice when they were prospectin’ erbout ther crevice. That shore let them out. They didn’t monkey with ther hole any more. Now, all redskins are plumb eaten up with superstition, an’ I reckon Raven Feather got hold of ther tale, an’ so ther crevice had no attraction fer him.”

Raven Feather, who had not been gagged, here gave a grunt of disgust and shame. “Me heap fool,” he said, in English, to Angell.

“Sure,” was the quick response. “That aire p’int war settled some time ago.”

The scouts arose, and with the tomahawks taken from the prisoners, proceeded to attack the crevice.

Their labor would have taken them many hours if, after working a short time, they had not struck a ledge of rotten rock.

Half an hour after the telling of the story, Buffalo Bill and his comrade were crawling upward out of the chamber.

It had been the hope of the king of scouts that he would be able to follow the light that came through the crevice and soon reach the top of the ground; but the discovery that the light entered from above between two massive bowlders, and that the open space that separated him from the hilltop was not over half a foot in diameter, put a damper on the hope.

Both he and Angell used their combined strength to move the bowlders, but in vain.

“Come on,” said Angell, at last. “We will get outer here, all right, though it’s shore goin’ ter take a little time.”

The speaker was correct in his opinion. More than three hours elapsed before they emerged from the new section of the cave.

Beyond the bowlders there was a sharp descent. The scouts went down, making many turns, and at last stood in a chamber four times as large as the one that had recently held them as prisoners.

As they were exploring the place, Bart Angell, in advance of Buffalo Bill, who held the torch, gave utterance to a cry of amazement.

“Ther sufferin’ saltpeter,” he exclaimed, “ef it ain’t Manuel. Ther aire the chaps I guv him when he got over his sick spell, an’ ’lowed he’d meander outer ther Territory.”

The king of scouts looked, and saw the body of a man—that is, he saw a portion of the body. The head and one shoulder was out of sight. The inference was plain: The man had tried to crawl through a hole in the wall, had become wedged in, and had died there.

The torch was lowered so that a closer inspection of the body might be made. The clothing had not rotted, but from appearances Buffalo Bill knew that it inclosed a skeleton.

“What do you make of it?” inquired the king of scouts.

“Some one war chasin’ him, an’ he made fer ther hole ter hide. It war too small, an’ he got stuck an’ stayed thar.”

“I wonder what is down in that hole, Bart?”

“You kin s’arch me. Maybe thar’s gold an’ all sorts of plunder.”

“But how could the robbers have placed it there?”

“Easy ernuff.” He gave the body a jerk, and the opening was fully disclosed.

“Why, it’s a large hole,” exclaimed Buffalo Bill, in surprise. “I could go through it easily.”

Bart Angell chuckled. “Of course, Cody, of course. An’ ye’ll have ter go through thar, fer it’s ther only way outer this chamber.” As the expression of surprise still lingered on the face of Buffalo Bill, Angell quickly proceeded: “Manuel Larios war as broad as he war long. Ye wouldn’t think it, lookin’ at him now. I reckon every member of the gang, ’cept him, could get through ther hole, an’ I reckon also that he’d never tried ter crawl in ef he hadn’t been skeered plumb ter death by whoever war pursuin’ him.”

“I don’t believe the pursuer caught up with him,” was Buffalo Bill’s comment.

“Nor I. Bekase why? Ef he had, he’d shore hev explored ther territory on t’other side of the hole. Gimme ther torch, an’ I’ll try ther route.”

“Excuse me,” returned the king of scouts quietly, “but I’ll have to disoblige you.”

So saying, he flattened his body on the hard ground, and, inserting his head in the hole, began to crawl through it. He was at the other end, when an exclamation of surprise escaped him. He was under an overhanging wall, and the light of the torch permitted him to see all about him. Below was what seemed to be a bottomless pit, but his eyes were fixed not on the pit, but upon a large recess in the wall upon one side of him. This recess extended about six feet inward, and was about as wide as it was long. The whole surface was covered with lime coating, and the floor was strewn thickly with human bones. The hand of the scout could have touched some of these bones, and a close inspection induced the belief that they had lain untouched for ages.

Bart Angell was by Buffalo Bill’s side as the latter said: “We’ve struck an Indian sepulcher. But how in the name of the saints did the Indian bearers get the bodies up here?”

“Gimme yer torch an’ I’ll tell yer,” replied Angell.

Buffalo Bill complied with his comrade’s request, and the torch was lowered so that the wall of the chasm could be plainly seen.

A winding, dangerous descent was observed. At the bottom was a pool of water, but the trail skirted it and passed into a small, oval chamber. Angell looked for some time at the trail, and then said: “We kin make it, but we got ter be blamed keerful.”

As he spoke he started to go down. Buffalo Bill waited until Angell was halfway to the pool, and then followed carefully. In his hand was the tomahawk he had used while working his way out of the Navahos’ cave. An idea came to him before he had taken half a dozen steps. There would be a pursuit when Raven Feather’s reënforcements arrived from the village. Here was opportunity to stop the pursuit.

The trail had been made by human hands, footholds having been cut in the rock.

With his tomahawk the king of scouts destroyed these safeguards as he passed them, and when he stood by Bart Angell’s side at the foot of the descent, the wall was without a trail.

“We can go on with more confidence now,” he said.

Angell nodded, and they went through the chamber, and after a long journey, in which many curious sights were seen, they came out of the ground to find that they were on the shore of a branch of the river.

The time was about midnight. The scouts were both hungry and tired. They risked a small fire to make coffee, a supply of which Buffalo Bill generally carried with him, and, after partaking of the beverage and the beef and hardtack that went with it, they were ready for sleep.

If either had known just where he was there would have been no sleep for their eyes that night. But they had become confused as to direction on account of the many turns they had made while in the great cave. To attempt to find their bearings while the dark night lasted might have taken them miles in a wrong direction.

They were up at the break of day, and Buffalo Bill, field glasses in hand, was scanning his surroundings.

“Whar aire we?” asked Angell, as he raised his arms in a yawn.

“We have been going westward. If I am not out of my reckoning, we are about five miles from your cabin.”

“Too bad. I’d been a-hopin’ we’d been p’intin’ t’other way.”

“So had I, for the other way is the way the Navahos will take, and that also is the way that villain Holmes will take. I wonder if the redskins have overtaken and killed him. If they have, pretty Myra Wilton is now in the camp of the Navahos.”

“Thar’s nothin’ like findin’ out,” said Angell quickly, “an’ I’m fer startin’ this identikle minute.”

“We’ll have a bite of breakfast and then start.”

Half an hour later the scouts were on the road to the scene of their adventures of the day before.

The platform that concealed the entrance to the cave was reconnoitered, and when Buffalo Bill saw that it had been shoved aside, leaving the shaft exposed, he came to the conclusion that the Indians had abandoned the underground retreat for good and all.

Both his horse and that of Angell had been stolen, but on the trail to the cave he picked up a lariat that had fallen from the saddle of one of the led animals.

By the aid of the lariat he descended to the cave over the protests of his comrade. “Ye’re shore takin’ a big chance, Cody,” Angell said. “Maybe ther reds aire playin’ fox, an’, if they be, ye’ll get it in the neck down thar.”

But the king of scouts with a shake of the head went down the rope. His voice was soon heard by the waiting comrade above. “They’ve gone,” he shouted, “and the girl has gone with them.”

“How do ye know?” Bart Angell shouted back. “Did she leave a billy dux?”

The king of scouts did not respond until he was on terra firma again.

“She left her handkerchief, Bart. Put it where I would be sure to see it. The hank wasn’t there when we left the chamber.”